Recruit
by Anger House
Summary: FP. After a cruel betrayal leaves Renji stranded in the human world, he is coerced into training Ichigo for a purpose neither of them fully understand. While corruption blooms all around them, they find something different inside themselves. RenxIch Yaoi
1. Recruit the Truth

_It's been some time, eh? I started writing this during HHGODS, but I didn't want to submit it until I was finished; however, it's been almost a year! So, I've got to submit something even if it is unfinished. _

* * *

**RECRUIT **

* * *

You would think there's something more to life than just living, but a part of life is simplicity. It's just living. Sitting here, on the side of the curb, I can taste the cigarette in my mouth. I can feel the paper sticking to my lip. What I'm doing here or why doesn't matter. Where I've been? That doesn't matter. At this moment, why even think about what's to come. It doesn't matter.

The fact that you've been wearing the same clothes for a month doesn't matter. Or that you haven't had a haircut in two years; that you have no home or bank accounts; that you didn't finish high school, but you trained in Muay Thai, Kendo and Brazilian Ju-jitsu. No, none of it matters. You're natural talents? Forget about them.

And it's as I'm sitting here on this curb that he walks up to me. He walks up to me and he says, "Do you really want to live this way?" This guy, with his clean hair and fresh uniform, he says this to me. And I'm curious. In what way does it seem I'm living? I live and that's it. It's simple.

But he says, "This is a waste of your natural talents." So I throw my cigarette into the gutter and look up at him. Seeing him through these tinted, dark glasses, he doesn't look so regal anymore. He says, "You have a good bit of spirit in you. We can feel it from inside the Seireitei. You belong with us." His shadow is covering me, blocking out the sunrise. "Please come with me, Mr. Abarai."

Why even think about what's come? It doesn't matter. I get up from the curb and maybe I've known all along I wouldn't die here. Whatever was to come, it wasn't here.

**Recruit the Truth **

I find myself. I'm waiting with a dozen anxious, tyro youths. We are all waiting to meet our potential captains. The tyros talk. They talk about their unease, or their pride. One small girl sits next to me. She says even if a captain accepts you under his command, there is a probation period. She says it's just over three months, and then you are evaluated and assigned accordingly. "Most of us," she says, "are sent back to further our studies."

The captains, I've heard, have monstrous power and little humanity. They are monsters, and it must be their power that makes them so. Every captain should be feared and obeyed. Obedience, however, is not trust. The boy, who sits beside the girl, says to her, "The captains don't love or befriend their subordinates, they just tolerate them. And we, in turn, don't love our captains. We only respect them."

The door at the front of the room opens and we are beckoned, led and organized into a line on the grounds. The dozen of us are joined by a crowd of a hundred others. All of us are tyros and we all wait in silence. Standing before us are familiar faces. They are the ones who have taught us, scouted us or disciplined us. And they are the ones who introduce the thirteen captains and their assistant captains.

I will not detail the ceremonials, except to say that nearly two dozen from our crowd lost consciousness. I've been warned that the spirits of the captains have been known to do this.

We were then directed again into the examination rooms, where we were sorted, scrutinized and subjugated. It was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life to be sized up by another man, and to hear him talk of me without ever meeting my eyes. The man beside him makes a note on a clipboard and asks my name. I say Renji Abarai. And he says, "From the districts?"

"Yes sir. The seventy-eighth," I say and the two men pass by me. This has been going on for almost three hours. In my head, I imagine the taste of a cigarette in my mouth. I picture the smoke, stringy and gray and tangling into the air.

I wouldn't have guessed it, so I must have looked surprised when I was told that I'd been invited to serve under the sixth division. The man tells me, "This is merely a _request_, but I don't recommend you refuse it." Behind him, I can see another man. He is wearing the captain's cloak and a hair clamp. He stands to the side and looks indifferent.

"Sir," says a woman to his left and in a quiet voice she whispers, "Have you read into this boy's history? Are you sure he's… suitable?"

The man answers, "his psychological and practical scores are sound. I don't see the problem."

She says, "Sir, forgive my rudeness, but this boy was fostered in a red-light district. I fail to see how he should-"

The captain, still looking off, speaks over them. He says, "He's adequate."

They say, "Yes of course, Captain Kuchiki."

And I'm still thinking about that cigarette.

After the evaluations and assignations, we're sent back to our rooms to gather our belongings. I came here owning nothing, and so I leave here empty-handed except for a pack of cigarettes. When I finally get that taste in my mouth, and breath it in, I hear her voice. She walks behind me.

"Renji," she says and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Congratulations." I haven't seen her in almost a year. She still looks the same, although this time she's dressed in rich clothing instead of tatty textiles.

"Like Cinderella," I say. I can't help but smile.

"Who me?" she smiles too.

"Yeah."

Her eyes follow my hand to my mouth. "Still smoking?"

I nod. "I was assigned to your step-brother's division."

"I know."

"Maybe I'll see you more often now."

"Renji," she says and her voice is shivering. When I look at her, water builds at the brims of her eyes. They look so clear and purple under the tears. She cries, "Tell me. You said you would." The last words escape on her breath, and I know exactly what she's talking about.

I wonder what it is about the truth that makes people chase it. Why is it that a part of us will always desire to know? We must think we'd be better off. I breathe out and my breath is just a puff of smoke. Looking at her purple eyes, I don't know what's better anymore, to tell the truth or to tell a lie? What is simpler? I tell her, "Whether or not she loved you, or whether she had regrets, I can't say. She never told me. She had a heart that was," I try to think of the right word, "groundless." Her tears are dripping over her cheeks. "Rukia," I say and she looks at me. "Her name was Hisana."

I watch Rukia's chin tremble, her lips frown and she shuts her eyes. "Did she," Rukia swallows, "ever tell you where she was going?"

"She never told me she was leaving."

Her voice becomes exasperated, "but did you know?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter. She left." I toss the cigarette onto the ground. "Stop chasing her Rukia."

"I need to know!" She yells. "She was my sister!"

"She was." I nod again. "She was your sister." I can hear Rukia sniveling and I want to walk away, but I can't bring myself to. "She was a friend."

"She was your friend?" Rukia says, wiping her eye with her wrist. "You took care of me for years after she disappeared. Why? Tell me. I've waited so long to know, but you never gave me a reason." I don't say anything. "Did you love her, my sister? Is that why?"

"Me and Hisana? No."

"Then… How did you meet her?"

I smile and say, "_She_ met _me_." Rukia's face crumpled. She rubs her forehead and sighs, so obviously frustrated and falling apart. So I ask her, "You remember the seventy eighth, don't you?" She nods. "You know what kind of place it is. What kind of work we do there. You remember?"

"I do," she says, her frown deepening. "You were a murderer," she blinks and tears fall, "a mercenary."

"Yeah." What a way to reminisce. I look at the sky, anywhere but her eyes. And I tell her slowly, "One night I got myself into a mess, the kind you don't walk out of. And as I'm sitting against this wall, half naked, this guy has got a gun to my head. And he says he's sorry, but he can't keep me alive. He's says he's really sorry. And I'm thinking this is it. I'm going to die." I take a long breath. "And Hisana, from the next room, she walks in with a bed sheet wrapped around her. And she says, '_Kotsu! If you fire that gun I'll tell you're mother_.' And the guy starts arguing with her. As soon as he lowered that gun, I grabbed it so fast." I feel myself grinning. "You don't need to know the rest, but that's how I met Hisana. She saved my life. So I saved yours." Rukia stands with her arms crossed. "You were a good kid. In a lot of ways, Rukia, you kept me alive."

Rukia is quiet, stunned. She stands there, still, except for her shaking head. "Why," she mumbles. "Why come here? Why become a shinigami?"

I stick my tongue into my cheek and sigh. "For a long time, I avoided the Seireitei, hiding in Rukongai. One day I woke up and forgot why." I smile, but she does not smile back. I think she knows I'm avoiding the whole truth. The kind of person Hisana was, who she was, I don't want Rukia to know. As a child, Rukia saw her sister with adoration; and because of it she retained her childhood. Is a misunderstood truth a lie? I say to her, "stop chasing her, Rukia."

* * *

_Where's Ichigo? Relax, he's coming. And yes, there is lemon. Chill people. _


	2. Freshest Street Meat

* * *

**RECRUIT**

* * *

**Freshest Street Meat **

The grounds of the sixth district are elaborate. Not feminine, but ornamental.

As a newcomer, no one in the division expected that I'd be able to summon the spirit of my zanpakuto. So as I stand on the field, with my sword's spirit extended into its first release, I become a spectacle. Seated officers scoff and laugh. I see one reaching for his own sword and he says he wants to try me.

He says, "So the trash from Rukon has a bit of spunk. Such an ego to release your sword like that."

"I've never killed a man from the Seireitei. I wonder if the shinigami bleed like we do," I grin as I say it. I become a different man when my sword is in my hand. Everyone becomes a threat who wields a weapon.

The officer mutters, "filthy trash." With his sword drawn, he comes at me. I can't explain it, how it feels to drag my sword through his flesh. This sword is an extension of my spirit. It bites into the officer's side and I can feel his strings of muscle being plucked from his ribcage. It's like cutting the strings of a guitar. Blood is spraying into the air between us. It is like rain falling on my skin. Warm, summer rain.

When he falls onto the ground he looks dead. The others are screaming for a medic, for the fourth division. They say he's alive, but hardly. This officer, this third seat, who lies in the cooling puddles of this rain, his friends tell me my career is over. I'm a monster. I'll be executed. And I say, "If I am executed, who will become the third seat?"

This is how I gained my position and earned much contempt. Through the next year, I passed my probation and was promoted to the sixth division's lieutenant, the second seat. I was reputed as a master of swordsmanship, a failure of spell casting and an _animal_ of sorts. It wasn't a secret that I sleep around, or that I spent too much time in the bars. The only secrets I would ever hold are the secrets about Hisana. I began to understand that it was not a coincidence that I was assigned under the command of Byakuya Kuchiki. I later learned he had been the shinigami she had married. And Byakuya, well, he knew all about me.

One evening, he looked at me and said, "I specifically asked that you work under me. There is a reason for this."

I had a cigarette rolling between my lips and I said, "It couldn't have been that you sensed my great spirit potential?"

He nodded. "That's accurate, but I didn't anticipate that you would become my second seat; but I had intended to offer you a job of sorts."

"You didn't need to have me _assigned_ to your division for that. You should already know I work _under_ people for cash."

His eyes were fixed and cold. "_That_ was not my intention."

I allowed myself to smile and rock back on my chair. Smoke floated up and swept the ceiling. "No," I said, "I don't suppose someone like _you _would come near me with a ten foot pole."

He simply nodded and said, "There's a man outside Soul Society, and because I am bound by oath to abide by the laws of this world, he remains alive. It doesn't concern me whether or not his death is discreet. Kill him in whichever way you see fit."

"Ah," I'd said. "Sucks to have status sometimes. Is that why you thought of me? Because I'm so low, murder is not out of my character?" Byakuya nodded again. "But now you've got a problem, don't you? I'm a lieutenant. Why would I want to give that up?"

"Nobody inside Soul Society, who is strong enough would be willing to accept this job; however, I expect you will because of your nature. Not as a murderer," and he nearly grins, "but as a madman."

And I laughed. "Alright Captain, I get you." He'd walked out of the room and seemed pleased that I had been considering it. Every part of me must be rotten because even with wealth and success, I still commit these past evils. It's not for money. I have that now. More than I need. So why would I go back to old sins?

Part of it is because my Captain asked it of me. And there seems to be nothing I'm not willing to do for him. I would kill for him, do time for him and perhaps, even die. The other reason, I suppose the stronger one, is that I haven't changed. What acts are beneath me? I don't know. I still haven't drawn the lines I'll never cross. So what won't I do? Who I won't I hurt?

I don't know.

…

Rukia stops me in the hall. She says she's heard from her brother that I've been given an assignment in the living world. "A real doozey," she says and, "good luck." She walks beside me until we hear a man behind us call out. She excuses herself once Lieutenant Shuuhei Hisagi nods to her. I watch her scamper away.

"Hisagi," I say. There's no need for formalities. He smiles at me and motions for me to follow him. As I slowly chase him, we don't say a word. He leads me into his office and shuts the door.

Then he says, "heard about your little _human expedition_. Guess I won't be seeing you for a while." He grins, and I can see the tip of his tongue skimming his teeth.

"Not for a while," I say, watching him walk closer. He presses me against the wall and his hands start to wonder. They drag down to my waist and tug at my pants. His mouth touches my neck and he starts to kiss me. His hands keep scanning my body, sneaking into my clothes. I feel his fingers glide from my stomach to my back as he pushes his groin into my leg.

"What?" he says, his lips moving against my neck. "You're timid today." So I curl my hands around his waist and he hums. He tells me, "I've also heard that you went home with two strangers last night." One of his brows lift. "What's that about?"

"I was drunk," I say.

"Renji," he presses into me harder, "I'm getting tired of that excuse." And he's heard it often, but he's never lost his patience with me. He's been hearing it since I joined the military, since he took interest in me. As my superior, he'd never done anything to comprise the professional relationship, that is, not until _I _hadprovoked him.

Count back to Six Months Ago…

I am laughing through my teeth, hardly keeping my eyes open as I stumble through the place. The lighting is dim, so I felt my way around the lounge. Once the course fabric scratches against my palm, I recognize it and sit on the couch. There's a hand patting me on the shoulder. A voice in my ear, saying, "That' a boy, Renji," and I am leaning forward over the table. "Congrats on third seat!"

I nod, and press my right nostril flat with my hand. I snort it; and when I sit back up, I still feel the sting in my nose. I sniff into my knuckles and scrunch my nose for a moment before my face relaxes. Then I said, "thanks."

Somebody comes through the door and yells, "what the fuck?" He storms around the place and starts telling people to get out. He says, "This is my house! Get out now." He puts his hands on his head and says, "I'm serious," because nobody is moving. With that, we all start moving through the door. I feel a pat on my back again, and the man beside me leaves. I follow, but once I'm on the street I don't remember who it was I'd left with.

My head feels detached from my shoulders and the dark air is staring at me with it's thousands of white, pinpoint eyes. Suddenly, I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do with all these eyes watching. They start to blur, those white specks and I don't remember how, but I'm throwing my hands against someone's door. Where? Why? I'm being watched. The stars, they followed me. They're glaring at me still, the whole lot of them. So I'm hoping the door will open soon. Whose door? Where?

And the door opens. A voice is speaking. It's saying, "Renji? Renji is that… what're you…?" In front of me is the door and behind the door is Shuuhei Hisagi. I know about the way he looks at me. I know about the things he says. I've heard since the academy days. I can see his eyes, and they aren't tiny and bright and blinking, so I trust him.

I tell him he has to let me in. I tell him that the stars are not beautiful tonight and he has to let me in. He does, but he has this certain look on his face. He looks almost curiously at me. He asks if I've been drinking. Why yes, I have. Have I been getting high? Also, why yes, I have. And am I high? Among other things, why yes, I am.

He sighs and ushers me into his living room. He starts to talk, saying he has an early shift tomorrow. He'll get his coat and bring me home. He keeps saying, "hang on. Hang on. Let me grab my coat." He's not looking at me much though. Except for a few sneaky peeks from underneath his bangs.

I am leaning against his wall and listening to his soft rambling of "hang on, hang on." And I'm too aware of the way he glances at me. His eyes, and how they quickly move down me and then dart away. I know about how he talks of me, and how his friends caution him. When Shuuhei comes back into the room with his coat in his hand, I take it from him and drop it onto the floor. I say, "that's not necessary." And he looks curiously at me again and bends to pick it up. I'm smiling and once he picks it up, I take it from him again.

He says, "Renji."

And I say, "Yeah, Shuuhei," and I move even closer to him, "what do you need, Shuuhei?" He looks up at me with stretched eyes, and he swallows hard. He opens his mouth like a fish and then closes it. I lift my hand onto the side of his neck and bring my mouth close to his cheek. I'm saying, "I don't think you'll be needing your coat, Shuuhei."

His voice is breathy. "Renji," he says again. "Hang on," he sighs as start to kiss his neck, "hang on." His hand is hesitant, but eventually it comes to push softly on my chest.

And he says, "This is wrong. You're not thinking clearly. This is wrong. It's so wrong." He repeats this quietly, his eyes start to close and he shakes his head.

I move back in front of him and say, "let's go to your room, Shuuhei." I can see the door of his bedroom open from down the hall, so I walk toward it. I can feel his eyes watching me although he doesn't move. Once I'm close to the doorway, I feel him moving toward me. At the foot of the bed, I cross my arms in front of me and take my shirt off.

I feel him pull at my arm and say, "come on, Renji. Let's bring you home." And I smile at him again and stand in close enough that our stomachs touch. I lift his chin slightly with my hand and kiss his throat. He's protesting, but he leans into me. I feel him straining against my leg as he says, "you need to go home."

I know he wants this so badly. So why shouldn't I give this to him? I see the look changing in his eyes as his control slowly slips away. His hands start to grab at me. His breathing gets heavier and he's begging me, "don't. Renji don't. I can't stop myself. Don't." But he keeps grabbing me, keeps pressing into me. He moves his lips onto mine and the way he kisses me is full of need. As he's telling me we need to stop, our hands hurry to remove each other's clothing. And then his rambling takes a new direction as he tells me how he's dreamt of this, of me, of us. He says I have no idea how long or how badly. He says that I'm the most gorgeous and sensual being he's ever seen; but I'm not really listening- I'm sucking on his cock. And I'm thinking, I hope the stars aren't watching.

He lies back on the bed and pushes his hips into my mouth. At the same time he's pulling at the back of my head. I don't want him to come yet, so I lift my mouth off him and tell him to, "hurry up and fuck me."

Present Time…

Against the wall of his office, Shuuhei runs his hands over my stomach and says, "you've been working out more." Then his mouth moves onto my chest and he says, "let me see more of you."

I hold onto the back of his neck. "If you want me to undress," I say, "then get busy. I'm not going to do it for you." His smile grows wider and he pushes me toward his desk. His hands move roughly over me and tug my clothes onto the floor.

"Hah," he breathes, his palms pressing my shoulders onto the desk's surface, "I expected you to struggle a bit more." He moves over top me and licks my collarbone. I have to wonder, just what is Shuuhei thinking? Or maybe he's not putting any thought into this at all. What's going on now, this pressing of bodies, it can't be affection. It's not fondness, passion or friendship. What am I to Shuuhei? I can answer that with what he is to me.

It's because I was acting timid that he let's my mouth get so close to his skin. Maybe it's because I let him think he'd be jamming his dick up my ass; but I haven't let him do that since the first time we'd been together. And I don't intend to let it happen a second time. _You_ shove a brick up _your_ ass and tell me how it feels.

So I bite him. And he throws himself off of me and says, "Ah, fuck Renji!" I take this opportunity to get off the desk. He's rubbing his neck and sighing, "that really hurt." He lets me close to him, and I shove him against the wall.

With my hands on his hips and my teeth at his ear, I say, "don't forget who is fucking whom."

So what am I to Shuuhei? I hear him groan into my ear. I'm his hobby. I'll never fool myself into thinking I'm more.

…

After leaving Shuuhei's office, it's already the early evening and the sky is getting dusty. I walk along the wooden balconies and look only straight ahead. On a one-way path to self-destruction, there's no looking back. The future is just as ruinous as the past and neither holds any precious lessons. I suppose this is how I justify my unlawful existence. Eventually, I'll be the death of me; so that's enough to deserve to survive- for the moment anyway.

As I walk through the sixth division's training grounds, many young officers nod to me. They say, 'good evening Lt. Abarai' and 'it's an honour Lt. Abarai'. I can't tell if they're genuine or just scared, but as I walk by them, I leave a trail of whispering behind me.

When I walk into the offices, I'm greeted by the loud laughter of Rukia Kuchiki- my Cinderella. She has a tabloid in her tiny hands and a group of female shinigami crowded around it. She looks up at me, giggling. "Renji," she smiles, "Renji, our Lieutenant of scandals!" I walk over to her and the incriminating newspaper.

"They catch my bad side again?" I ask, leaning in. My arm brushes against one of Rukia's girls, and she squeaks at the contact. The rest of them huddle closer and try not to laugh.

"Do you have any other sides?" Rukia says. I take the paper from her and read the headline: Sixth's Drunken Lieutenant Makes Scene at Local Restaurant. I can't help but grimace. Beside the article is a gray photo of me inside the restaurant, shirtless and holding a bag of fast food.

I point to it and say, "I don't remember that."

"No, of course not," Rukia says, smiling. "Oh, and Renji? My brother wants to see you."

"Heading there now."

I meet him in the office. He's as indifferent as ever, standing to the side and eyeing up the stack of papers on his desk. He says, "Renji. I assume you've made all the necessary arrangements for your departure?"

I nod. "All I need is my sword, Captain."

"Are you prepared to leave within the hour?"

Well, he's ahead of schedule but, "ready and able, sir."

"I'll be accompanying you through the portal."

"Any reason for not mentioning that before?" I ask. It's a small detail, but it's trivial. And for some reason, it just doesn't sit well with me.

"There are details not on the report," he says so perfect and evenly, "You will require a briefing beforehand."

I smirk. "Away from shinigami ears? Yeah," I say, "I get you."

"Good," he says, "dismissed."

"Captain," I say and he turns to look at me. "Permission to speak frankly?"

"Granted."

"Don't try to fool me into believing that this is a practice of discretion," I say this knowing I'm out of line, "this's a practice of secrecy. And I'm not your confidant; I'm your accomplice. So you better spill everything because it's my life on the line." My jaw is clenching and it takes some effort for me to keep talking, "You're hiding something, or you're lying. But the advantages you gain from that will only last until the truth is found out. So, by god, I hope you've got a lot to say in that portal."

"Dismissed."

* * *

_Oh, Renji! I've written you to be so hypocritical. Anyway, forgive SPs- I'm the only person who looks over these suckers. _


	3. Dreadin' Dead

**

* * *

RECRUIT

* * *

**

**Dreadin' Dead**

I'm thinking about how I said goodbye to Rukia. How she had that small

smile on her face; the same one she had on all during her childhood. It always made her look like an old woman. Her eyes would shine and look more purple than amethysts, and more sharp, clear and precious. And for some reason, she always looked so much wiser- so much smarter than me, like she could see something with those crystal eyes that I just couldn't.

I'd gotten that look so many times from her in the past, in Rukongai. In the old mornings, when she'd gotten out of bed early, she would come down to the kitchen and sit at my old, broken table. From the one chair that sat tucked under the tabletop is where she would sit. She would sit there quiet and watch me from across the room. I was younger then, more irritable and quick with her; and I would bark at her to, "quit starin'." And she would look down sometimes, or more often she would have something say. Usually it was a question.

Something like, "where are you going?" She'd watch me packing at the doorway, clipping on bags of rations and fitting myself with weapons. Once she'd asked me, "are you going to kill someone?"

I'd said, "some. Yeah." And she would get that watery, clear look; her mouth smiling as slightly as a blade of grass bends in the breeze. And she'd asked me another question.

It was, "won't you feel bad?" and I laughed at her. I'd looked straight into her eyes and laughed at her.

I said, "won't you?" I'd looked away by then and was reaching for my sword. "Or," I dragged the word on, "you're thinking why should you, right?" I tucked the sword into my belt, "You're hungry aren't ya?" And she'd nodded, her unwashed and unkempt hair swaying into her face. "Any idea how much a loaf of bread costs?" She'd shake her head. "Costs thirty-nine pieces."

I know that as a child she had no concept of money, but I continued to chastise her. At the time, I'd found it amusing. So I'd continued on, "So I kill nineteen men and guess how much I'd get?"

Her voice is tiny and embarrassed. She'd said, "I don't know."

"Not even half that," I'm looking at her now, "so guess how much a life turns out to be worth, kiddo?" She rubs her eyes and shakes her head. "Not even half a piece. So I'm left with this predicament." I'd moved over to her, kneeled down to the floor to look into those wet, purple eyes. "Why pay thirty-nine pieces to feed a girl not even worth half one?" A tear slid down her dirty cheek; it leaves a streak of clean, pale skin. I stand and adjust my sword, "So Rukia, you ask me if I feel bad? Well," I begin to head out the door, "don't you?"

Even though time had passed since then, she still watched. She'd stood looking on, clear and wise; and I am there, geared up and about to leave. This time she doesn't ask if I am leaving. She knows this already. And she doesn't ask if I will kill people. She knows this already too. Instead she says the one simple word absent for her childhood. She says, "goodbye."

I had nodded in return.

And now I'm walking beside Byakuya Kuchiki, who hasn't even begun to say a word. Walking through this darkness, we'll reach the human world soon. I am waiting for him to talk, to finalize my orders. We reach the end of the portal and he follows me through. As we stand on the cement walkways of the living, I'm about to turn to him. I'm about to speak, but anything I'm about to say becomes irrelevant because his sword is through my chest.

If I look ahead of me, I would see nothing but the end of the walkway and the buildings and the streets. Above, I'll see only the dark air with it's millions of starry eyes and below is only blood and cement. So he must be behind me. If I could turn I would see him. How would he look I wonder? Smug? Torn? No. He would look as he always did: indifferent.

In Rukongai, Rukia should have asked me, "How much does it hurt to have a sword pulled through your chest?"

And I would say, "as much as betrayal." You see, kiddo, there's a reason they call it 'getting stabbed in the back'.

…

I don't know what was first, the voices or the blurbs of color, but they're both getting clear now. _Kill him._ I can see clearly what is about a meter from me, but beyond that is blurry and it's painful to squint. I'm lying down on a cot. Where? I don't know- or when or how or why. _Kill him._ I just know that I'm here. The lights are too bright so I shut my eyes. It seems so easy just keep them shut and to never open them again.

The voices I'm hearing sound as if they're in the next room. Two men, one older than the other- I'm not trying to understand what they're saying. I couldn't possibly concentrate on it. Soon the beeping, the chatting, the whirring and buzzing all fade again.

A young voice, a boy's- he's saying, "he looks a bit odd." Everything is black, but as my eyes roll away from the back of my head, it starts to glow red. Slower this time, I open my eyes. I expect the painful brightness, but the place seems dimmer this time, like there's a shadow above me. The boy is saying, "bet he's gonna die soon."

Another voice says, "Jinta get outta here." This time the voice is deeper, but it's still young and edgy. Suddenly, I hear light footsteps scamper away from me. Was there someone so close? Who? Where? What do I remember?

Night. Stars. The human world- I had a mission. It wasn't discreet; it was secret. At the portal, Rukia's voice- she'd said goodbye. Her brother. His sword- through my chest- there was blood on the cement. _Kill him._

I'd never forgotten. This has been with me the entire time. This feeling. It's heavy in my chest and circling inside me as if someone had been stirring it. It is desolation and it is rage. _Kill him._

_Kill Byakuya. _

Rukia's voice, small and sheepish. Her hair unwashed and unkempt sways into her face. She sits at the table, like every old morning. "Won't you feel bad? Renji?" Sitting at that broken table, her tiny smile stretches wide- too wide. "After all, _he killed you_."

It feels like I'm awake, but I know I'm not. I know this because the woman who's standing next to Rukia is dead. And I remember this day and however distorted my mind is making it now; it used to be real. When I walk through the door, it's like walking through the corridors of my mind. I see images floating in the sky instead of clouds. Ahead of me is hazy, as if my mind cannot fully recreate the past. And _she_ is behind me. She puts her hand on my shoulder and I can hear her voice whispering in my ear. She says, "I'm only going out for cigarettes."

Those were the last words Hisana had spoken to me. I don't see her leave; I don't hear her footsteps- she just disappears out of this dream. I remember coming back into the house; Rukia was alone, in the dark, at the table. She says the lights have burnt out and her sister still hadn't come home. She asks if it's my fault. Have I killed her?

No. I didn't kill her.

"Not even for a loaf of bread?"

No, not even for a loaf of bread. I wouldn't kill her.

And Rukia asked, "she's not coming back, is she? Did something bad happen to her? Do you know where she went?"

And I tell her that her sister had a certain way about her. She always wanted and wanted and wanted. I tell her, "but your sister was very unlucky, so instead she smoked cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes."

"Like you?"

"I smoke too, but not as much as her," I'd said. Rukia's mouth went big and round and she said 'oh'. "Sometimes when Hisana- I mean, your sister would talk to you she would be smoking. Remember?" She nodded. "And you remember all the smoke that floated up out of her mouth?"

"Yes."

"Your sister was full of smoke," I tell her. "She sucked up so much that her belly got so full that she floated away too." Rukia had this horrified look on her face. "And that's what happens when you smoke too many cigarettes. So you won't smoke any, right Rukia?"

_Kill him. _

Rukia's voice is fading as she says, "No, but when is my sister coming back?"

Everything is glowing red again like there is something very bright on the other side of my eyelids. Voices are seeping into my mind again. Male voices. It's that same young, deep and edgy voice saying, "I'm serious Jinta. He may be unconscious, but this is boarding on harassment."

A kid's voice, not Rukia's, says, "I just don't want to miss it if he dies."

The other voice, "That's morbid."

"Can't help it. I've never seen a shinigami die before."

"He won't die. Now get out of here." I hear the kid run off again, and the older one sighs. He says, "sorry. When you wake up, you can hit him."

Is he speaking to me? It's almost funny, how long I'm taking to die, slipping in and out of these dreams and this place. I don't even know if I still want to wake up. _Kill him._ Oh, that's right. I have to kill him. He's still alive somewhere. Byakuya Kuchiki.

I feel something- something sharp and diving into my arm. It's sudden, but my eyes stretch open. Everything is too bright and I can't see. I start to panic. I try to move; try to get up but there's something like a stiff fabric tying me down. My eyes are adjusting and I start to see the clear outline of a person, but that's not what I'm focusing on. I'm focusing on the hand that's stabbing me with something tiny and sharp. What is it? Where am I? Who is that? This is what's slamming through my head. And it's like chewing; when you chew too fast or when you think too fast, your head just bites you in the cheek.

So I'm struggling against these bonds without thinking. I'm all instinct now and if something gets too close to me, I'll kill it. I feel like a tranquilized animal waking up in a cage. Nothing I'm seeing is very clear, although my eyes are thrashing around the room. I can hear someone talking but I don't understand it. Someone grabs my head. I feel their cool touch on both sides of my face, holding me gently but sternly. I look at him, at his face directly above mine and I see his mouth moving. He's speaking to me, but I can't make sense of his words. I look up at his eyes, serious and brown. His hair is vivid and orange.

My body is still struggling against the bonds. I look back to his mouth, he's saying it's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I watch his lips move in front of his teeth, which are straight and white. He's young. Maybe fifteen. His voice is deep and edgy and I begin to remember him. I stop struggling. I breathe through my mouth and just stare at him- whoever he is.

He's still saying, "it's okay. My name is Ichigo Kurosaki and it's going to be okay." I must look completely distraught because his features change and become soft. He says, "you must have gone through something horrible. I'm sorry."

…

I've been lying here for three days, strapped down to a small, white cot. Cords and needles are protruding out of my arms. I just stare up at the ceiling. They tell me they saved my life, felt my spirit dying just outside their shop. How convenient, how _lucky_ I am to have almost died where I did. How amusing.

The kid with the orange hair has barely left this room. He just sits in a chair about three meters from me and hums. Sometimes he talks to me, but I never answer; although, sometimes I will look back at him. I can tell just by looking that he's so desperate for me to say something- to talk, to confide. I'll do no such thing. He starts to tell me about his day. He says that the teachers at his school never cut him a break, but he doesn't mind so much. Then he pauses and everything is silent except for the machines keeping me alive. They beep and whir. Then he says, "I know you can talk." And I feel myself smiling even though I try not to and I hold my laughter in my throat. He says, "Because you talk in your sleep." Many people have told me this before. I've been known to do quite a few quirky things while I sleep. Talk. Walk. Kiss. Of course I don't remember any of it.

Someone else walks into the room. This one the kid calls Urahara and this one I'm familiar with. I don't know him personally, but I know he's the defected captain of the science and research department in Soul Society. Thinking of that and looking at the plastic vines coming out of me, makes me more than a little nervous. This one says, "Good afternoon Lt. Abarai." And the kid stands up and stares hard at him.

"You know who he is?" the kid says.

"Of course. He was quite notorious during the days I'd known him." He adds, "in Soul Society." He checks the glowing and beeping machines and tells me, "You're healing fast. Your spirit pressure is looking very strong." He motions for the kid to take a seat and continues, "You had a most curious wound Lt. Abarai. Not from a hollow, but from a shinigami." I was expecting this. Perhaps he wants to turn me in? Maybe he thinks Soul Society would hand him a handful of cash, but no. What he would be facing is Byakuya Kuchiki with sword in hand. There's no way he could know this- know that Byakuya and I both wanted each other dead. And I'm not about to tell him. I won't say a word to these people. I don't care if they saved my life; I owe them nothing.

Urahara says, "Well, I can see that you're in no mood for chatting. Maybe another day?" And he leaves both the kid and me alone again in the room.

"A lieutenant, huh?" the kid says. I don't look at him this time. My entire body is stiff and screaming to get up and move. There are fluids leaking into me from tubes and straps tying me down to this cot. Oh, if I could… if I only could, I'd slash Urahara's throat. I would tell him that if he wanted me to talk, to spill my guts and trust him, maybe he shouldn't have turned me into a lab rat. I'd say you don't strap _friends_ to tables. I am not an experiment. I don't want to be here. I don't want his precious treatment.

Let me be selfish. I want so much just to be taken over by my anger, this hatred. Let me stop being a man and become a monster. I don't want to feel any guilt or any sympathy anymore. I will make it stop. I will wage war with Byakuya and if I never feel empathy again because of it, so be it. I tell myself I should have died, or rather every part of me should have remained dead. Instead I am resurrected with pieces missing. Where is my mercy? My heart?

Let all of me die. "Hey," comes the kid's voice. It fills the room. "That's some dark spirit energy you've got there." He states it so simply, putting his palms together and shrugging. I want to know why this kid is always with me. Why does he spend all his free time here? Is he looking for money too? Does he want to ransom me too? Maybe he's waiting for me to divulge Soul Society's secrets in my sleep. Instead he says, "I was the one who found you, you know. Urahara, he told me a little about Soul Society and the shinigami, but I've never met one. That is, until a few days ago." He rubs the back of his head.

Could that really be all? Is that his entire reason? I hear myself laughing. My voice is loud and breathy and then it fades away. He's smiling at me. That boy. He says, "I wanted to know, what kind of people the shinigami are." This is when it hits me. After all this time, I finally give him a thought and it clicks. He's not a shinigami. He's a human and he can see me. It shouldn't be possible.

I look at him and he's just a kid. His mouth is simple and pressed into a grin. His features are set and stern, carved into his face like a sculpture. The structure of his face is both straight and angular, but soft with the roundness of youth. His hands look rough and torn and experienced in battle. They're like his body, skinny but tough. And even though he looks rather ordinary, there is something unsettling about him. Something in his large, brown eyes that caution me. Those dark eyes, they're burning like fire.

He says, "You won't say anything though, eh?" He brushes the tip of his nose with his hand. "Must be me. Urahara mentioned something about shinigami being excessively proud. Is that it? You don't think we're worth speaking to?" He's testing me, trying to coax me into conversation. I can detect the hints of amusement in his voice. He's not serious. And I think, is this a game we're playing? I look back at the ceiling. Do I have time for this? Do I have a choice?

…

On the fourth day, I've had it. I start wriggling under the bonds again. I don't care if it's futile. I can't be still like this anymore, lying back and unmoving. I reason that if I can free one hand then removing the rest of the bondage will be easier. So I start sawing the skin around my wrist against the course fabric. I need something slimy to help my hand slip out of the cuff. Blood will do.

Once my skin is raw and bleeding, I begin to drag my hand through. I breath deeper, it helps me to ignore the burning itch of my wrist. I watch as my skin starts to bunch up around the base of my thumb. The wound I created earlier is stretching wider, creating a growing red gap between my wrist and the skin collecting over my knuckles. I start to think this wasn't such a good idea, but it's too late to stop now. I keep twisting and pulling my hand further out of the cuff. I hear my breath hissing between my teeth as the skin of my hand tears further apart.

Once my hand is free, I take a few more deep breaths. I don't want to look at the damage. I think the rest of this plan can go smoothly as long as I don't look. Looking at a wound only decreases your tolerance of it. So, I'm not going to look at it.

I feel my hand shaking as I bring it to the other side of my body. Under my fingertips is more of that course fabric, but I don't feel any sort of buckle. I'm not too keen on dragging my other hand through it, so I examine the cuff more carefully. I feel something cool, kind of like plastic. I finger it and press it. It takes me a minute before I figure it out and squeeze the clip open. I feel the fabric of the cuff release. Now both my hands are free and I begin to work on the thick strap across my chest.

…

Standing up was painful. My every muscle clenched and cramped and stiffened. I limp to the door and start down the dark corridor. This is when I notice the blood I'm dripping behind me. I can see the dim reflection of the outdoor lights outlining the tiny, black droplets. They're like breadcrumbs I'm leaving behind.

My wrist feels hot and itchy and I resist the urge to claw at it. Instead I clamp my other hand around it. I can feel the gore oozing up between my fingers. I tell myself it just seems bad, but really it's a just scratch. It's barely a graze. In fact, it hardly hurts at all. What burning? What itch? It's perfectly fine.

There are voices rumbling from the walls. Not either of those kids, but the two older men. I'm guessing it's Urahara and Tess-something-or-other. I start to wonder how I'm going to get out of here. This place, it must be a nuthouse.

Like a fool, I'm limping and dripping blood down the hallways. I lick my dry lips and squint into the darkness. It's difficult to see. I feel a pounding in my head. It beats like a drum, humming low and methodically. It beats quicker and quieter as I walk, thumping against my skull. It makes it hard to think, hard to walk straight, hard to keep standing. I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. The drum beats harder and stomach begins to churn and the walls look like they're rippling. My hand runs against them, but they feel straight and solid. I take a deep breath and keep moving forward.

There have been times when I thought there was nothing worse than physical pain- times when my body had been almost completely destroyed. I have felt it searing and cold, shooting, burning and tearing. Rukia should have asked, "How does it feel to be overwhelmed by pain?"

And I would say, "Well, your body tingles after a while. You don't even feel so attached to it, really." But she wouldn't have understood that. Instead, "It feels like lying in a hot spring; your skin is warm and red. Imagine a rain above you, dripping cold droplets onto your hot skin. This is where you are when you're near death, tingling and detached."

My muscles feel a bit warmer, a bit looser, so I'm walking more smoothly now. I'm leaving red handprints on the walls as I make my way further down the hall and I think, "mind over matter. Mind over pain." I repeat this in my drumming head like a mantra. The nuthouse is like a maze and I cannot find a way out; although, if I'd wanted I could follow the breadcrumbs back to the beginning. I sigh out a breath as my body starts to feel heavier. I want to collapse onto the floor and rest. Maybe I'll bleed out, but I don't care. Suddenly escaping doesn't seem so achievable anymore. Just fall onto the floor, Renji. Let yourself give in. You don't want to move forward anymore.

Mind over pain.

My head beats. It thumps and thumps and drowns out the mantra. The drumming sounds like footsteps, light and tiny footsteps that are softly getting closer. Everything is softening, blurring and darkening. All I feel is the smooth and solid, rippling walls against my bloodied palm. _Let yourself give in._ I lean into the walls and slide onto the ground. _You don't want to move forward anymore._ The footsteps sound so close now and the drumming continues quietly.

I hear Rukia's voice. It's not in my head. I hear it, soft and childish. She says, "Mister?" She almost whispers it. "Mister," she repeats. I can almost see her, tiny and frail and sitting at the kitchen table. Only she's not sitting. She's standing. Her hair is longer here, but it still brushes messily in front of her eyes.

She says, "mister?"

I move my lips to speak to her. I want to answer her, but my voice is only

a breath. And she says, "Are you looking for the bathroom?" The edges of her are blurry. It's so dark. I can hardly see anything it's so dark. I try to talk, but my words only come out as more air. So I shake my head. I want to ask her why she's here. Shouldn't she be older now? Rukia?

I am foolish. I'll never outgrow my petty memories. Why am I so unable to forget? The past still sticks inside me like smoke, like glue. I'll never be rid of it. It clings to me like a lost dog.

I force myself to smile at the girl standing next to me. How odd I must look to her, sitting and bleeding with a small curve on my lips. Yes, I must look as much of the fool I am. I look at her. She is blurring and rippling and fading into darkness, this girl, who I mistook for Rukia. The past that won't stop bleeding into the present and the memories that won't vanish, she's all of that.

I remember where I am- no. You can't remember your way out of a memory, or out of the past. What's happened is that I've realized where I am and that she is not Rukia. She does not have Rukia's voice and Rukia is no longer a child. This girl, who is looking down at me, is a different child. And she says, "Um, mister? Shouldn't you be in bed sleeping?" I shake my head again and she frowns. She kneels down and whispers in my ear, "we're not supposed to be wandering in the hallways." With two hands, she grabs under my arm. "We need to go back to bed, okay? Before someone sees." She gives my arm a yank and I hear myself groan in protest. She is small and thin, but somehow she possesses a wicked strength. And she gives my arm another agonizing tug and I fall onto my side. I doubt she's human. My body begins to slide over the floor with her strides as she tugs and drags me down the hall. A nuthouse. This place is a nuthouse.

She sighs and wheezes, "geez, mister. You sure are lazy." I tell myself to get up. It should be easy, but for some reason my body won't comply. I was so bent on escaping only moments ago and now I cannot even summon the will to stand. The little girl yanks on my arm again and grunts. I must have no dignity.

…

She leaves me on the floor beside the cot, the one with the course straps of bondage, and looks down to me. "Oh my," she whispers. "looks like I'll have to tuck you in too." My shoulder feels dislocated. It hangs limply at my side and I cannot make a fist. It's like trying to curl your toes when your foot is asleep, the message just doesn't get through. She looks at me with her big eyes and says, "I hope we don't get in trouble."

I swallow and try to talk again, and although my voice is hoarse, it gets through. I ask her, "do you know a way outside?" And her eyes narrow. She turns to the cot and begins to rummage with its straps. She starts shaking her head quickly.

"You're not well," she says. "You have to stay and get better." I force myself to my feet and I'm not sure why it's so difficult. Again, I can hardly see.

I say, "if you know a way outside you should to tell me. It's not right to keep me here." I say this as calmly and simply as I can. I talk to her like I did when Rukia was a child. Simple logic, right and wrong.

She doesn't look at me and her voice becomes panicked. "No," she whispers. "I can't. You need to get better. You need to stay."

I lean against the wall. It feels like my body wants to shut down, but I can't figure out why. I ask, "what's your name?"

And she answers, "Ururu."

I smile at her and say, "Ururu, I need to find a way out of here. Can you help me?"

Her eyes look to the floor. "I'll get in trouble," she says. It's hard to focus on her because my stomach feels like it's pulsing inside my gut. She whispers and mutters to herself as she fidgets, but I'm finding it more and more difficult to pay attention. She turns her head and looks back at me. Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly; almost as if she's saying, "mister?" My stomach is cramping. It makes my chest ache and my throat burn. A taste of sourness fills my mouth and I vomit. I hit the floor. I don't even feel it.

…

I wake up strapped to the cot. The sun is peeking in through the window, but it seems like it shouldn't be this time of the day. Wasn't it only seconds ago that I'd fallen? A voice in the room says to me, "Hey."

It asks, "you feel okay?" I can recognize him by his hair. That colour that seems like it may once have been dark, but now is bleached into a radical shade of orange. It sticks into peaks and stands up all over his head. There's only one kid I know with hair like this. And he says, "I can't use spells." He points to my arm, torn and dislocated. It lays useless and strapped down to my side. I look at the ceiling. He says, "Sorry if it hurts, but you'll have to wait until Tessai or Urahara get here."

That boy, he's wearing a shinigami's uniform. Only he's layered it with a large, gray sweatshirt. The drawstrings hang at different lengths about his neck. He looks to the side. "The little girl," he says, "that you met last night… She said you talked to her." He says this carefully, slowly and then he looks at me. "I know that you want to leave, but," he licks his lips and his voice quivers, probably from nervousness, "you _are_ sick."

He asks, "don't you feel it?"

And I feel it. _Kill him._ I feel my body breaking down, failing. I feel my mind drowning and slipping and thumping. Yet, none of it really matters. I just want to leave. I don't care if I die because I won't die. Not yet.

He says, "The atmosphere in the living world is different from your Soul Society. You were born there right?" I don't need to nod or confirm it, the kid just continues on. "So, being here for so long it's like," he looks around the room for words, "putting a fresh water fish in salt water. Or even- well, I don't know exactly, but Urahara said it's _acute spiritual sickness_."

Poisoning.

It seems that the living world is the perfect place to off a shinigami. Here is where the eyes of the Seireitei are diverted and where the atmosphere is potentially toxic. Here, there are so many ways to be done in. Really, I'm as good as dead. And Ichigo says, "your nose is bleeding," as if I didn't know. As if I couldn't realize that.

He rips a section of a paper towel from the counter and walks toward me. His eyes are focused on my nose and his face seems almost placid, except for the slight edges in his brow. I can't detect the emotion. It's not disgust. I'm sure this kid has seen blood before. I'm sure he's fought before- battled and killed. And surely, the sight of blood cannot disgust him. He smears the blood across my cheek with the towel and says, "this is just another symptom." He smiles with half his mouth. "At least your hair isn't falling out. That could've been a symptom too." I feel the blood drying on my skin. I can't help but sneer at his sense of humor. He starts to laugh, just short and quietly.

"Sorry," he says, "it was a bad joke." Then he points to the machines hooked and drilled into my arms. "Those are anti-spirit meds. Something like that anyway." He heads back to that chair he's always sitting in and then the girl walks into the room.

Little Ururu, with her soft and childish voice, she says, "Ichigo?" There's something in her hand. Something that looks like a very tiny shinigami communicator and she says, "your cell phone was ringing." Behind her is that other child. The boy, his name is Jinta.

He says, "did Red die yet?" And Ichigo shakes his head and takes the phone from the girl. He leaves the room. Jinta walks toward me despite the girl's protestations. She urges Jinta to leave with her, but he doesn't listen. Soon his head is hovering over my own. His face is smug, superior and he says, "hurry up and croak already."

I scoff. I smile and tell him that once I'm free, I'm going to eat him. And his face drops. He looks surprised and scared at the same time. The girl screams and runs out of the room. She yells for Ichigo. Jinta looks at me and backs away. Once he collects himself, his face scrunches and he says, "yeah right." Then he leaves the room.

…

When I wake up my arm is fixed, and Ichigo is sitting across the room. He looks at me and nods. He's disheveled and sweating and chewing something. He has beige cotton wraps wound around each of his wrists and knuckles and a mouth guard in his lap. He tells me that when Urahara had arrived, I 'd already been asleep. So they'd anaesthetized me while I'd been 'snoozing' and went forth repairing my arm. Ichigo says, "you don't mind, do you?"

Yes, I mind. I don't want them to sedate me without my permission; but I know that this concept of _individual rights and freedoms_ is meaningless to them. So I just look back at the ceiling. I hear Ichigo sigh. Whether from exhaustion or frustration I don't know. He asks, "are you itchy or something?" I look at him and then I realize I'm wriggling under the binds. I stop moving and he sighs again. I want to ask him why he spends so much time here. What does he think I'll tell him? What will I give away? It occurs to me that perhaps he works under Urahara. Perhaps he's paid to keep an eye on me, or to try to coax me into a revealing conversation. Maybe, just maybe, this is a nuthouse chalk full of rogue, fugitive shinigami such as myself. Maybe, these quacks are just waiting and waiting for one of us to betray the other.

Before, this boy told me that he'd only wanted to meet me because I was a shinigami. He wanted to understand what he called 'my people'. This could be because he is like one of us. He sees us, feels us and possesses a spirit. Only he is alive. So he is different. He is not a shinigami. I lick my lips and say, "free me." I'm not sure if I'm thinking it, or actually saying it, but the boy responds. He stares at me. His eyes are large and stretched wide. His mouth gapes for a moment and then he swallows. It was only a seconds worth of lost composure; and then his lips broke into an amused curve.

He says, "no can do. You'd take off."

I say it's my right to take off. And he shakes his head.

"Then bring me a cigarette."

…

There are two types of people I know. There are the ones who bring you up and the ones who bring you down. The first type are the teachers at the academy, or the radio personality. It's your mother and father figure. And it's also _completely_ Rukia.

It's Rukia when she says, "thank you," or "congratulations." It's her when she sets your goals for you and waits for you to cook her breakfast. It's her, as she'd count the filthy money you'd bring home with you every other week and say, "this'll get us through."

This type, they want you to succeed even when they don't. They'll wish you happiness even if they're envious or impartial of you. It's not even so much about the encouragement, as it is about the expectations. They want you to succeed, but they don't help you do it.

The second type is the majority of men I've met in my life. These are the people who remind you of your failings, your defects and insecurities. These are the ones who tell you that you cannot succeed. Ironically, they help you do it. This type is Byakuya.

It's Byakuya when he says, "the likes of you" or "figures" or "deplorable". It's Byakuya when he kills you and remains indifferent.

Type one and type two, I've never thought beyond this.

I've never asked, 'where does Hisana fit in?'

Or 'where would that Ichigo kid fit in?'

These 'non-conformists.' Where do they fit in? And as I begin to formulate the boundaries of a type three, he walks through the door. He smiles and says, "okay." Walking toward me, his erect, orange hair swaying with his strides, he says, "you're free." Then his bruised hands fumble with the straps across my chest and over my wrists. I feel the pressure of them ease as he releases them. They dangle down the sides of the cot and the boy steps away. He says, "well?"

If I want to, I could sit up. I could swing my legs over the side of the cot and run. Where? Down the corridor- and he says, "free, but with strings attached. So don't get the wrong idea. You still can't leave."

I say, "then _free_ is bad word choice."

And he smiles with half his mouth. "Not really," he says. "You're free to sit up." He has a sword. Its wrapped in loose bandages and hanging from his shoulder. 'Sword' might not be the right word. Cleaver or weapon is better. The wrapped hilt hovers by his ear- out of my reach.

I sit up. My feet press against the floor and I stand up carefully. As slow as I'm moving, my mind is racing. Thoughts are rushing and replacing the natural noises being created around me. I don't hear the machines whirring and clicking anymore. What I hear is more methodical and menacing. A drum beat, soft and repetitive and whispering like a heart beat. Just thump, thump, thump.

And I look at the kid. Him. He just stands there. I don't need a sword to kill him. His spirit is strong, but sporadic. During my incarceration, I spent extra time sorting through it, focusing on it. What I've noticed is how it dips and spikes. For some hours, its high and overbearing; conversely, it also plunges back down, leaving him weaker and more vulnerable. Now is the time when it's crashing, plunging. Now, if I'd wanted, I could dispatch him easily.

The drum beats in my head. It's as if it had never left. The drum beat, the thumping, its almost like being asleep. Imagine yourself dreaming. Imagine that the drumbeat is really an alarm trying to wake you up. This is how it feels. Have I forgotten something? Am I missing something?

The drum beats.

And it beats.

And I look at Ichigo.

He's grinning and his left brow is lifted.

The walls are rippling.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _

_Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. _

Am I missing something? I'm asking myself, _kill_ who? But the drum just keeps on beating. It keeps chanting. I hear Ichigo saying, "hey." I must have forgotten something. I've missed something. Ichigo says, "You alright?"

My eyes snap back onto him. The walls are still. The air is quiet. The drumbeat is gone. And I ask, "where's Byakuya?"

He says, "who?"

So I scream it. "Where's Byakuya Kuchiki?"

And somewhere, I think Byakuya is laughing.

…

I sit in small, panelled entertaining room. I watch Urahara lower himself next to a low table and fold his legs into his lap. He peers at me from underneath the rim of a short-rimmed hat and then looks into a teacup. He must be watching the drink steep. Beside him, Ichigo is standing with his hands hidden inside his large, gray sweatshirt. That cleaver is still hanging from his shoulder.

Suddenly, Urahara says, "It makes me nervous when I see your eyes darting around the room, Lt. Abarai." So I settle my eyes onto him and he laughs. "You know, they tell stories about your eyes." He touches his finger to the cup to test the temperature, and then wraps his hand around it. "When I became captain, I heard many of them; but there's one I've always liked the best. They told it after you killed the third seat of Sixth Company." He blows on the fragrant drink and then says, "they say that you were a mercenary in the Rukon Districts- that during a battle of a thousand men, you were splashed with their blood until you were dripping. In fact, so much blood that it seeped into your skin and changed the colour of your hair and eyes. Now it only shines the colour of blood."

"Ridiculous," I say. "I was born this way."

He laughs. "Of course Lt. Abarai. I was only breaking the ice."

I look at Ichigo. He looks to the floor and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. His weapon's hilt, it hovers by his ear. I hear Urahara laugh and assume my eyes must have been flickering around the room again. I stare at him and ask why I'm prohibited to leave.

He says, "Oh, you can leave Lt. Abarai, just not quite yet. I would like to offer my extended invitation to you as a guest in my household."

"A _guest?_" I have my doubts.

"On the condition that you agree to the condition." This is a game of questions; and he says, "I had a choice whether or not to save your life and I'll be completely honest. I wouldn't have wasted my resources unless I had faith that you could be useful to me in the future. So now, I'm hoping you'll fulfill that purpose."

I say, "I'm not indebted to you."

"As you say," he sets the cup on the table, "but listen anyway, for your own sake." I begin to study the room again. I take note of the direction the light is shining and the movement of the air. There must be a door or window in the next room. He says, "Stay as my guest and participate in Ichigo's training. Actually, to be more specific, I want you to teach him."

I say that's not guest; that's a slave, but he keeps talking.

"You'll tell him everything you know about Soul Society and the shinigami there. He'll know everything you know. He'll move like you move. Understand?"

I look at Ichigo. His eyes are stretched and his brows are pressed together. He seems more surprised then I should be. My first reaction, it should be to reject this man's offer and grab that boy's weapon. As a test of my dedication to _my real_ purpose, I should slash both these men and exit this prison. I shouldn't even hesitate. Instead of doing what I should, I say, "fine."

Why? Because I have an idea of what Urahara is up to; and he can help me achieve my real purpose. He can help me kill Byakuya Kuchiki.

…

The man's basement is a desert. Really. Underneath his home, he's walled in an underground wasteland. It's so huge that you cannot see the wall from the opposite side of the room. So huge, that it may take me five minutes to run to the next wall. As I look around the room, Ichigo is lying a few feet away and performing sit-ups. I check the device around my wrist. Urahara called it a watch. Apparently it tracks the movement of the sun because it's able to tell the minutes before dawn and nightfall. A minute, as I've been told, is sixty beats.

We have different ways of counting time in Soul Society. Part of my job is to instil this information in Ichigo. It's almost been two minutes. I say, "Ichigo. You better be in the nineties." His shiny face appears above his knees and then disappears as he lies back down again.

As he sits up, he pants the word, "ninety-two," and lies back down again.

I say, "nine seconds." And he sits back up again. I look back onto the fake horizon. It almost seems there's a sky down here. It must also have very high ceilings. I wonder if this is typical of the living world. I don't imagine it is. I look at the watch and say, "time." Ichigo falls onto his back and breathes deeply.

I ask what his final number is and he tells me, "ninety eight."

I nod my head and say, "good enough. Pick up your sword." And even though I've tested his limits and drained him physically, he picks up the sword despite his exhaustion. I watch him lift the weapon and slide his feet into an appropriate stance. I ask him where he got his sword. And he blinks the sweat from his eyes and shrugs slightly.

"Well," I say, "you weren't _born_ with it were you?" He shakes his head. "So answer me," I make sure to pronounce my words in a patronizing manner, "Where did you get your sword?"

"It was given to me," he says, "by Urahara."

I try not to laugh. He does not even have a grasp at the basics. To my left is a wrack stacked with both steel and wooden swords. This, I've been instructed, is for training and is not to be removed from the training grounds. I wrap my hand around the hilt of a steel katana. "Your sword is different from this one," I say to him. "It has special properties. Am I right?" His face presses into a defensive expression. He doesn't answer me. He doesn't trust me. "Urahara gave me this sword," I say, directing the steel toward him. I run my hand along the length of the sword and as I do, it transforms its shape. The steel grows and darkens and thickens until it reflects my own spirit. The sword becomes an extension of my soul and I can feel my very being resonating through its edge. Now, it's not just a sword. "He didn't give me this one," I say.

Ichigo mouths the words, "that's impossible," and fixes his stare onto my sword.

"A shinigami's sword is a reflection of their character," I tell him. "That sword is a reflection of yours and not Urahara's." I gesture to the bandaged weapon. "You understand?" He nods slightly to me. I lift my chin and look down at him. The way I lift my sword, it catches the light on each of its seven short prongs. "I was born with this sword. Were _you_ born with yours?" He glares up at me. His mouth is a suppressed snarl and as he reaches for his sword. His eyes seem to burn up with what I hope is anger and wounded pride. Once his hand makes contact with the hilt, the bandages loosen and fly away from the cleaver. "I hope you have the skills to back up that sword. Otherwise," I say, "you'll never survive in Soul Society."

His arm swings into a wide arch as he attempts to severe my head. I only have to tilt my neck a fraction to avoid it. As his stance resets and he recovers from his failed strike, I veer and slap the kid in the jaw with the back of my heel. And because his balance was off, the blow knocks him onto the ground. The cleaver clatters onto the rocks. I couldn't suppress it, so I laughed at him. I say, "You're hardly a warrior at all."

He stumbles onto his feet and mumbles, "you're too fast."

And I smile and say, "your moves are too choreographed. Show me your fighting stance." I watch as his back foot slides a step behind him. He points his toes forward and angled. His heels are firmly planted onto the ground and I say, "Here's a foundational problem," and I slap him in the stomach. The force causes him to nearly fall backward. I tell him the reason he's lost his balance so easily is because his stance is too strong. I say, "on your toes. When the stance is less planted, the body can absorb a blow better." I explain this to him as I deliberately walk into his blind spot. "Attack me again," I say. "And this time put some more _enthusiasm_ into it."

I spin my sword in my hand as I wait for him to collect his weapon and ready himself. I nod to him and he races toward me with his sword in hand. He swings it in wide, powerful arcs. His moves are simple, quick and most likely fatal if the boy possessed more accuracy and better timing. As it was, he didn't and I am able to avoid them with great ease. There are no surprises or consecutive attacks, just a no-fuss style of swordplay; and I've seen enough. I don't even have to swing my sword. I just sneak into his guard and chop him in the back the head with my hand. He stumbles forward, but catches himself before he falls on the ground. Something in his eyes tells me that he, as well as I, knows the fight is over.

His brows furrow and create soft wrinkles on the bridge of his nose. The way he avoids looking at me, I can tell that he's conflicted. Perhaps he's never felt this vulnerable or weak before. So I decide to push him a bit further. I say, "you're an amateur at best," and further, "you'll need years of training." His eyes are lit up like fire and his mouth is set into a tight frown. Only the quick swallow in his throat gives away his unease. By looking at him and weighing the look of desperation behind his angry expression, I can assume he doesn't have years; but I had all the time in the world. Byakuya Kuchiki would always be there on the other side. I wouldn't have to pursue a speedy vengeance, because he was a difficult man to kill.

I ask Ichigo how long he has to train and he doesn't answer me at first. I tell him whatever he's sworn not to tell me will only hinder his development under my tutelage. And he looks to the ground and says only, "months." I sigh out a long breath. In a few months, I think, I'll be following Ichigo into Soul Society. This was my best opportunity. Within these months of training, I'll work to coax out every detail of Urahara's plan from the boy. After all, I had my own agenda.

* * *

_Wow! You read to the third segment? I'm impressed! _


	4. Romance Not Certified

_Summary of previous entries: Abarai Renji is betrayed by his Captain and left for dead in the human world- for reasons unknown. His body is recovered by Urahara Kisuke, who has requested Renji instruct Ichigo Kurosaki as a shinigami warrior- for reasons unknown. _

**RECRUIT**

* * *

_It has been awhile. Thank you for sticking with this story. The fifth entry is already written. I am hoping there will be 2 more. I have been asleep. _

**4. Romance Not Certified **

The next few weeks settled into a routine. In the afternoons, while Ichigo was at some other sort of schooling, I would laze about in the house. The best spots were in front of the windows right about noon. That's when the sun would light up the floors; and I would sleep there. During the first days, the boy named Jinta would prowl about the room. I listened to his footsteps, as he would sneak toward me. He must have thought I hadn't noticed him. In the first week, Jinta would only stare and see how close he dared to get to my napping form.

He'd never disturbed me; however, today I noticed his footsteps sounded heavier. I peeked at him with my left eye. He was holding a bat- a very large bat. I groaned and sat up, twisting around to face him. "Dinner doesn't wield any weapons," I tell him and he pales.

His voice stammers as he says, "I'm not dinner! Not your dinner, not anyone's!" I laugh at him and his grip tightens around the bat. I've no idea what he could possibly be thinking. I glare at him, but he doesn't leave. Instead he says, "I don't believe that you're a _real_ shinigami." His palms slide around the handle of the bat, leaving a trail of glistening sweat. He says, "shinigami are good people. You're not a shinigami." He spat with the words.

"You haven't met many shinigami," I say, lying back down into the sun. "If you had, you'd be eaten by now."

The child growls in his throat. He shouts and his eyes are fixed onto mine. "You stay away from Ururu!" he yells. I wave a dismissive hand at him. He's beginning to test the lengths of my tolerance. Before either of us has time to speak, voices from the next room seep through the walls. It's Ichigo and another young, male voice I don't recognize. Jinta whispers something under his breath as the two voices continue to bicker. I had to put some effort into it, but I was able to strain my hearing enough to make out their conversation.

"It's bad enough that you've dedicated yourself to becoming one," the unknown voice says. "But now this?"

Ichigo says, "_This_?" He says, "_This_ is who I am."

"No, it's not." The voice is calm, but stern. "You can't ever be one of them, Ichigo, and it's not something you should aspire to anyway."

"Don't say it that way."

"Look," the voice wavers slightly, "I can't be around you if this is what you're doing." I hear more shuffling and then clear footsteps heading further away, fading with each step. "If you ever come back to your senses, you can come back to me too."

I hear a door shut and then Ichigo blowing out a long, frustrated sigh. He says, "idiot," and then it sounds as if he slapped the wall.

I look over at Jinta and watch him nod his head in approval. I ask him what he's so smug about and he says, "None of your business," and as an after thought he adds, "asshole."

I met Ichigo in the kitchen. He was shuffling through the cupboard's contents when I ordered him to come and train. He sighed again and slumped his shoulders. He leaned over on the counter and gave me a look as if to say he wasn't in the mood. I suppose it had something to do with the stranger he'd argued with in the doorway. "Training," I repeated. "Now."

He breathed out loudly again, but nodded and stepped away from the counter. This is when Jinta strolls into the room with a smile bearing all his teeth. The child pats Ichigo on the arm and says, "'Bout time you dumped that loser. It's not right how he hates exorcists so much."

"Exorcist?" I ask. I've never heard the word before. Jinta glowers at me and returns his gaze to Ichigo.

"I hope he never comes here again," Jinta says finally and stretches his mouth into a wider smile. This must be a human matter, I think.

"Training," I repeat and point toward the hallway.

It was a seemingly longer walker than usual to the subterranean training grounds. Ichigo was solemn and distracted. Once we arrive onto the grounds, I tell him to jog to the end of the room and back. I tell him not to make more than fifteen minutes of it either. He sets off, but before he does he blows out another long sigh and I lose it. I find myself shouting. "Sighing is one in the same as whining!" I yell. "If you're one of Urahara's men, you should have tolerance to spare. The guy's a little touched. So get running," I say, "now." Ichigo eyes me with a glimmer in his eyes that could pass for amusement. Then he trudges off shaking his head. It leaves me thinking I may have overdone it.

When he returns, panting and sweating. I felt it necessary to remind him of his current situation. I tell him, pointing a finger in his general direction, "Listen kiddo, I'm as top of the line as it gets for a trainer. Understand? World class," I say. I'd learnt that word yesterday from the television thing. "High up on the military food chain, you understand?"

"Oh? So how come your social skills suck so bad?" he says, still catching his breath. At first, I dismissed him because I hadn't believed I'd heard it. It takes more than an extra helping of courage to chide a powerful enemy; it also requires a significant reduction in intelligence. Plus, I hadn't gauged Ichigo's character to include the capacity for disrespect. So my reaction to him was stupidly slow. Once I grasped it, however, I took a deep breath through my nose and willed myself to handle the issue with calm clarity. Instead, I opted for brutal honesty.

"The only reason I'm co-operating with that loose canon upstairs is because I'm using you in the same way he is. He wants you strong, so I'll make you strong; because once you're strong, he'll open the way to Soul Society. And I'll follow you through and begin my bloody epic of revenge." The words fumble out of my mouth as if someone had been pulling them on string. It makes me wonder how long I've held these truths inside, keeping them as safe and buried secrets. "Here's a history lesson for you: thirteen Captains and a General govern the Soul Society. I was more than strong enough to become a Captain- and there was more than enough opportunity; but because Soul Society is run by a bunch of Conservative bastards, there was no room in the hierarchy for district trash like me." I feel my face scrunching up into an expression of anger and disgust. I hear the tones evident in my voice. "So I sure as hell won't tolerate the same judgment from _you_. Do you _understand_ that?"

Ichigo glared at me with a lingering defiance, but he nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Get your sword," I spat.

That night I was lying on my back unable to sleep. Something inside of me felt like it was aching. It was a certain soreness akin to hurt, but not quite. Perhaps my pride had been wounded after all. I think I must have let myself get soft somewhere down the line. I let myself become sensitive and vulnerable. How else could the words of one young man cause me to suffer insomnia?

Some people don't need prove themselves in everything they do. Sometimes all they need is a name or reputation to command respect or admiration. I wasn't and never will be one of those people. I hadn't let it bother me before. So why now?

Why now when none of the past had any weight to it anymore?

My body's refusal to sleep had led me to wander in the house. I eventually padded barefoot into the kitchen and peered inside the fridge. I wanted something to drink. What the human's called _Pepsi_. However, something distracted me- a noise I could hear over the humming of the fridge. It was the rustling sound of two people outside the window. I walked silently toward it; and to satisfy my curiosity, I poked a finger through the blinds and peeked through. What I'd seen had been the last thing I'd been expecting.

It was Ichigo alright- with his arms wrapped snugly around another teenage boy. They're faces were mashing together. I resisted the urge to tap on the window. It was the shock of my own immaturity that prevented it. Instead I took another glance to make sure I'd seen this correctly. I felt one of my brows rise as I let the blind drop. I had no idea the kid had swung _that_ way. I really did want to poke fun at it. I bit my bottom lip and decided to tease him tomorrow.

I woke up in a foul mood. It seems that during the night your mind well run wild with dreams despite your reservations. I had dreamt of Rukia. I dreamt of her siblings- it wasn't a good way to start the day. With my thoughts lingering on nightmares, I walked into the kitchen. Urahara was there, sitting at the table. And it occurs to me that I may have to kill him. His eyes, his body, his speech and his breathing- it all tells me that he's keeping a deadly secret.

"Don't give me a reason," I say to him. I glance over him quickly and continue to the fridge. I daresay that he knew exactly what I'd meant. He'd known that I'd threatened to kill him. "Tell me what you're planning with Ichigo." I grab a litre of water.

"What do you figure?" he says, his eyes on me and his hand under his chin. I take a drink of water.

"Send him in. Stir up trouble." I shrug. "He won't make it undercover- too much honour, too much honesty."

"He's loyal to me," says Kisuke. "He wouldn't sabotage his cover."

I shake my head. "They will see through it."

"Do you?"

"You're fooling him." I set the litre down. "He thinks he's doing one thing, but you're having him do another." I lift my brow and say, "What you're doing with him," I shrug again, "I don't suppose it matters." And then I pause. I look back to met Kisuke's stare. "I won't interfere, but if you betray me, you will incur my wrath."

He grins at me. He says, "betray? I haven't promised you anything Lt. Abarai. How could any of my actions be a betrayal?"

I grin at him. It must have been menacing because he winces. "If you lie to me, you would be betraying my trust. Do not betray my trust, Kisuke."

I'm a firm believer in revenge; and I will give everything for its satisfaction. My very existence is only sustained by my drive for retribution- and I will take it with steel and dejection. After all, it's all I have to live for. My life is already over.

"Oh," he says simply. "Stop being so scary Lt. Abarai. I want us to be friends." People say the damnest things. He says, "We can help each other, me and you."

"When the time comes," I say, "just don't get in my way."

"Push Ichigo!" I shout in the boy's direction. A false wind blows through the training grounds. It causes his damned hair to bend like blades of grass. It would almost seem as though we weren't actually indoors. "Come on!" I shout.

Ichigo is barrelling through a sandy trail. He sprints over rocks, gravel and dunes. I see a film of sweat moistening his flushed face and he pants heavily. After a few minutes he slows to a trot and approaches me. He rests his hands on his knees and lets the sweat drip from the end of his nose. His voice comes over huffing breaths as he says, "I don't see _you_ running."

After working with Ichigo for just over a month, I know exactly how to push his buttons. I say, "What's the point of my running when I can use shunpo?" Flash step. Ichigo snorts and wrinkles his nose.

He says, "then teach me shunpo."

"Why? When you can run?" I flash him a wide, brilliant smile. A flame of anger flickers behind his eyes. His face scrunches and widens at the same time. I can hear him mentally cursing at me. Yet somehow tormenting the boy didn't seem as amusing today. I lift my chin and take a deep breath as the fake breeze presses past me. I feel the wind lifting the longest strands of my hair. I feel it moving past my skin. This fake breeze, it feels more real to me than anything.

"Renji," Ichigo says. I look lazily at him, letting my eyelids drop almost to closing. He asks, "should I do another lap or something?"

And I tell him if he thinks it will improve his sorry abilities then he should go for it. Ichigo begins to stammer at the comment, but I'm no longer listening. I inhale another full breath of the generated, man-made air. I breathe it out.

"Renji?"

"Avoid the captains," I say to him. "You can handle their lieutenants as long as the battle is one on one; but avoid the captains." I don't bother to look at him as I give him this advice. I know he's listening. "Almost all decent shinigami have the ability to read the spiritual pressure in the atmosphere; so if you can, end every battle quickly. We can sense battles. We can pinpoint their locations instantly, easily. So always keep moving. When you're inside the Seireitei never remain stagnant or you'll be found and killed." I glance at Ichigo and he nods. "You can hide in the Rukon districts. Use them to your advantage. The dirtier the district the better." I look up at the fake, deceptively deep, bluish sky. "Hit hard. Hit fast. And retreat faster. That's how you'll survive, understand?"

He nods. "I'll remember."

"Another word of advice, kiddo," I say, "don't put your life on the line for someone withholding the truth- not even for returning a favour."

He gives me an odd look. "How would I know if they're not telling the whole truth?"

"When they stop answering questions." I tell him, "people do acrobatics with the truth Ichigo. Ask yourself: is withholding information the same as lying about it?" I squint because the room somehow becomes brighter. I shield my eyes from what feels too much like sunlight. "Isn't misguiding one with only bits of the truth the same as manipulating them with lies? The only thing that distinguishes a liar from an honest person is _purpose_, Ichigo. Liars have the _intention_ of lying; because they can only lie when they know the truth. And even a liar will tell the truth, but only with a manipulative _purpose_."

"That's a bit," he pauses, squinting, "complicated, Renji."

This is what I get for trying to teach a kid a life lesson. Kids never get anything. They don't even get themselves. I say, "You have to watch your back Ichigo. Even around those you trust."

"But I trust them," he answers, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

"You can't get _stabbed in the back_ by someone you _don't_ trust," I say; and something dawns on him. I see it in his widening expression. His eyes dart onto me and then he quickly averts them elsewhere.

"You were stabbed in the back," he mumbles, but I pretend not to hear him. Instead I point to the ladder, which leads to the exit.

I say, "that's enough for today."

In the evening, I sit in the dining room. I let my hair down and finger comb the worst of the tangles from it. My mouth stretches into a yawn. And I hear someone walk in through the front door. I hear light and quiet footsteps- a woman's. I guess she's no more than fifty kilos. She's moving toward the main hall and then the footsteps cease. I hold my body and breath still and listen harder. I hear softer, quicker and lighter footsteps- too light to be human. If I didn't have a shinigami's ears, my guess is that I wouldn't be able to hear them at all.

It was as mysterious as a poltergeist and as suspicious as a burglar; but I decide to leave Urahara to his own business. It was clear that this home had its secrets, and that these secrets were not for my ears.

I drum my fingers on the table, until I hear the loud, clumsy opening of the door I had originally been waiting for. I'd been waiting for Ichigo to return. He'd left late in the evening and came back- I glanced at my watch- very early this morning. I choose to wait in the kitchen because I knew the boy had to pass through it to reach his quarters. I listen to his footsteps drag along the hallway floors. When he finally enters the kitchen, I say, "Good morning."

He nodded and a snarl was placed lightly on his lips. "Don't you sleep?" he asks. I can hear the annoyance in his tone.

"I don't need to sleep," I remind him. "Shinigami only sleep for the experience."

"Yeah," he says, "right." His eyes roll across the room. "So what do you want? I know you were waiting up for me. So what do you want?"

I tell him to sit. "In this house," I say to him, "you're under my watch. You're my responsibility." His eyes begin to pop out of his head, but before he talks, I say, "I took that on when I accepted Kisuke's _hospitality_. Now, I've been lenient with you-"

"Lenient?" He nearly shouts. I raise my hand to silence him.

"I _let_ you manage your own life. I _allow_ you to choose when you eat and sleep and mess about. I gave you this leniency because I trusted your dedication. Cleary, I gave you too much credit."

He waves his arm in the air and shouts, "What? Look buddy-" _Buddy? _"-I've been busting my ass training day in and day out! I deserve a little time off!"

"You can have your _time-off_ after training," I say. "And you don't decide when training is." I glance at him. I can sense his furiousness simmering underneath his small hold of control. "This is a warning," I say to him. "Remember it."

He sighs angrily and nods. "Alright. Sorry Renji," he says quickly, biting his lip. "I won't miss another training session."

"Good," I say. "Go."

He leaves the room in a muted fuss. He gets worked up too easily. He's emotional, I think. It makes me wonder how he'll fare in Soul Society. And I have to remind myself that it's none of my business if he gets himself killed.

Only it is.

Only it's not.

Damn it if I may actually like the kid. If he dies, and it's because I didn't instil in him the skills he needed to survive… then how should I feel? Should I mourn my pride- or his death? Should I regret my actions or wished I'd done more? I would move on, of course; but what amount of reflection is required before it?

Remember his purpose, I tell myself. Remember _my_ purpose. Ichigo is the gateway to Soul Society. The boy is nothing more. Ichigo is only the means to an end.

I need to keep things simple.

* * *

_This update took one year. I'm kidding. It was just in the data dust. _


End file.
